I was prompted by my mate Dave to post an update as it’s been a while since I have written much on the blog.
I’ve been working six to seven days a week at the moment, in a call centre and backstage on Wicked, as previous stated. This in turn means that I am up at 7am, out the door by 7:50am, at the call entre by 9am (if the London Tube does as it is meant to), out of the office by 5pm, then back on the tube to get to the Apollo Victoria Theatre by 6.pm, a spot of dinner, then kick of by 6:30pm, and depending on the conductor for the night, show is down by 10:30pm and home just after 11pm. Phew!
This is my Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday routine. Wednesday and Saturdays I just do matinee at 1:30pm and then evening shows at the theatre, back home just after 11pm.
In all this running around I realised in a true O M G moment, that I am going to be forty next year. And that means subsisting on 6-7 hours a night sleep seems to be an impossibility for me. Now I know all you working mums out there are saying, welcome to lour world. But anyone that has worked with me or had the chance to live with me on occasion, know that I rarely have any higher mental faculties in the morning, let alone the hint of civility, especially if I haven’t had a decent kip the night before.
The spirit has been wanting to post updates, but the body has been snatching a few Zzzz’s where ever it can get it.
No more basking in the glory days of youth where the constitution could run on the odd five hours and a serve of McDonalds.
I went out with a friend the other night to a snazzy little cocktail bar in London’s Soho. After two drinks I was as dizzy as a prom queen. Mind you, they were damn fine potent little concoctions. But once again, the constitution is failing me. A few drinks only for me, or the recovery kills. Gone of the days are drinking myself to oblivion. Now it’s about drinking myself into a nice crochet nana blanket.
Where does all the stamina go to?I remember the days when I would do a musical theatre worshop during the day, singing and dancing, then doing shows at nigt and rehearsal for other shows every other day. No the thought of dragging my old arse up a flight of stairs has me reaching for a tab of guarana.
Oh Donna, at our age we do indeed work hard for the money.